Not So Fortunate
by tellmamatobuggeroff
Summary: The five times no one helped him up when he had been knocked down, the one time someone did. The one time that led to so many other times.


So this is my first time on the author side of the Glee stories. *looks around* I think I like it. I just started watching Glee, and am still not caught up, but I heard rumors of Darren Criss being in season two and decided that I couldn't wait to be caught up and would just skip ahead and get back to season one later. Best. Decision. Of. My. Life. When I first watched Kurt and Blaine interact, I fell in love with them totally and completely. So, here I am, trying my hand at writing, Glee style. Also, the whole 'five time blah blah blah, and one time blah blah blah' thing is also something I've never done before either. In all honesty, I never liked the style and then I discovered Kurt and Blaine, read all the fics that looked good, and then read all the other ones anyway. That's how desperate I am.

Okay, enough with the rambling. I'm not always like this, I swear. *cough_liar_cough*

-break-

1.

He didn't see them coming, that first time. He was facing his locker, trying fruitlessly to fit the newest edition of _Vogue_ into his locker that was already crammed (however neatly it may have been) to the very corners with books and textbooks and folders. He was only a freshman, and it was merely the first week of school. What did he know about bullying? In middle school, everyone minded their own business. The popular kids stuck with their own kind, the jocks sat and laughed obnoxiously at COD stories that weren't even remotely amusing, and the unnoticed were just that. Sure, there was the occasional comment when one of the unnoticed seemed to almost go out of their way to attract attention, but Kurt had always been good at both dressing well and remaining anonymous.

He didn't know how lockers that seemed so flimsy could have such a cold bite when shoved into them, that first time. He wasn't clumsy, so he didn't have much experience with falling down or running into things. Of course, the day before his mom died, there had been that incident where he had slipped and fallen on the nearly invisible ice that coated the sidewalk, but there had been a friendly hand to pull him up and sooth him.

This time, when not ice, but a forceful hand shoved him, there was no one to pick him up. There was no gentle, caring person to smile kindly and offer him a hand. Instead, there were snickers and muttered words that sounded suspiciously like 'fag'. His eyes burned as his cheek pulsed and burned from where it had hit the locker.

Standing up from where he lay against the locker seemed then to be the hardest thing he had ever had to do, but that was then.

-break-

2.

The second time wasn't against a locker. Instead, he was slammed into a brick wall. The brick wall, like most walls, was not very flexible, and no matter how hard he prayed for some leeway (he was _not_ religious, damn it), the wall still didn't allow for a gentle fall. When he picked himself up once again, his forehead, chin, and left cheek were scratched and felt as though they had been stabbed repeatedly with tiny needles.

His eyes followed the letterman jacket as it walked away, the owner sneering back at him. Again, Kurt saw the word 'fag' fall from several lips, but he wasn't. He _wasn't_.

-break-

3.

He was. He was what they called him, and that meant that he deserved whatever they dished out to him, didn't it? He did like boys, and he did like to dress well and look good.

They had been slamming him into things for the year and a half he had been in high school. Lockers, walls, dumpsters, toilets, his own car, and once even a teacher (they had ended up in a rather embarrassing position, with the teacher laying on the floor and Kurt on top of him. He'd gotten a long lecture from the principle about appropriate conduct toward 'education givers'). He gave up the hope of anyone ever helping him up two months after freshman year started.

"Hey, faggot!" The familiar, hated term was spewed from Karofsky, a boy with serious problems.

Gritting his teeth, Kurt ignored him and continued on his path to French class. At least, he tried to ignore him.

"Hey, lady, I'm talkin' to you!" The insult was accompanied by a hand gripping his shoulder. Kurt was then spun around and slammed back into a closed door.

"Yeah," Kurt snapped, "I heard you. But here's a newsflash for you, Neanderthal, my name isn't lady, and it certainly isn't faggot. Now get out of my face. I'm going to be late to French."

"Ohhhh, lady has an attitude. Well, I think we need to fix that don't you?" Karofsky smirked, looking back at his cronies. Kurt opened his mouth to snap at them again, when it was shut for him by the sudden pain in his stomach, caused by Karofsky's fist. The junior smirked at him and let go of the front of his jacket, letting Kurt fall to the floor in pain.

-break-

4.

"There isn't anything I can do about it, Mercedes." Kurt sighed. "There's only a sale _today_ and if you really want that scarf, you'd better get over whatever cold you have and come with me, or you're not going to get it. I would get it for you if I knew what you were talking about, but I'm on a tight schedule and I don't have time to go around hunting for your mystery scarf. Plus-"

Kurt's babbling was suddenly interrupted by a beefy hand coming from nowhere and slamming his phone down to the floor. The same hand then hit his shoulder without mercy, and Kurt's neck protested vehemently as it was jarred when his should hit the corner of the white stone walls of the school.

"Fag."

Kurt watched Karofsky walk away, as though he _hadn't_ just pushed Kurt to the floor once again. Holding back a sigh and a few tears, Kurt stretched his hand out to grab his phone, praying (he was _not_ religious) that it wasn't broken. Thankfully, nothing appeared to have been done to the phone, but the beautiful seventy seven dollar case that held it was cracked clear in half.

"Kurt?" Came the familiar voice of his current best friend.

"Yeah, Mercy?" Kurt asked, his voice slightly wobbly. _Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry._

"So you'll pick me up after school?" Her voice came from the undamaged phone, and Kurt couldn't help but feel a twinge of betrayal. Did she really not hear the loud slam of the phone hitting the ground?

"Yeah." He muttered. "Sure."

-break-

5.

The last straw. His back had been slammed into the red lockers, the threat breathed into his ear quietly and dangerously. This boy was insane and confused, and that made him not only dangerous, but also uncaring.

His father had freaked out and demanded his immediate removal from the school.

"You're going to Dalton, Kurt. And that's the end of it."

A zero tolerance harassment policy would be the best thing about this new school. Well, that and the fact that Blaine was there.

-break-

1.

"It's going to be okay. It'll be great. Calm down, Kurt. Blaine's there, and he's going to help you. He promised." Kurt muttered to himself. Unbidden, thoughts of others who had broken all the many promises they had made rose to the front of his mind.

His mother, who had promised to be there for him forever, and then died.

Finn, who had promised to back him, and then hadn't.

He drew in a large breath of air as he reached Dalton parking lot for boarding students. His first day was today, and to save his dad and Carol some money, Kurt had told them that he would just board at Dalton. It was better than having to drive an hour both ways every day.

He pulled into his assigned parking spot and didn't see Blaine, who was waiting for him even in the freezing cold with a black hat pulled firmly over his ears and a nice, warm-looking coat, tied at the waist. His gloved hands were shoved in his pockets and his dark eyes watched as Kurt turned off the car, undid his seatbelt, and got out. Too late, Blaine realized that Kurt was stepping onto a dark patch of ice and could only watch as he slid and slammed down onto his butt. Blaine winced in sympathy, having done that many times and always ended up with a bruised tailbone.

Going as quickly as possible while avoiding the ice, he jogged over to where Kurt lay grimacing in the cold.

"Hey there, clumsy." Blaine teased, watching Kurt's face light up at his voice and loving it. He reached out a hand and watched as Kurt eyed it in surprise.

Kurt saw the gloved hand in front of him and was surprised for a moment. Never before had anyone ever actually offered him a hand up when he had fallen. No one but Blaine. Blaine had been there when Kurt needed a pick-me-up while spying, and he was here now, giving Kurt a helping hand, his eyes twinkling happily.

"Thanks." Kurt murmured, grabbing his arm and allowing himself to be pulled up and into his arms. Blaine's arms wrapped around his back and held him tightly against his chest, and Kurt's arms wrapped around Blaine of their own accord.

"I'm glad you're here, even if it didn't happen in exactly what one would call a fortunate way." Blaine remarked gently into his ear. Kurt couldn't help but smile in response.

-break-

Okay, so what did you think? Good, okay, just stop trying? Leave me a review please!

Loves,

-forbiddengrace-


End file.
